


the dreamer sinks so deeply

by WyrmDisco



Series: Post Canon Fero [1]
Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Ficlet, Gen, M/M, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Spring in Hieron Spoilers, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyrmDisco/pseuds/WyrmDisco
Summary: It takes a while for him to come back out again.
Relationships: Fero Feritas/Samol
Series: Post Canon Fero [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966825
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	the dreamer sinks so deeply

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fangirl_squee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/gifts).



> A Childs Garden of Dreams  
> David Maslanka  
> 1981  
> Movement I: "There is a desert on Mars where the Dreamer sinks so deeply into the ground that she reaches hell."

You lay there, numb, at first. You let it wash over you. Rain off the feathers of a duck, the last of a sound before silence. You close your eyes and try not to feel the tongue in your mouth, the teeth that bite into it.

You think desperately of water, of soft loamy earth in your fingernails. You wonder how much of it is still there, if you could dig and tweeze the smallest particles of ~~him~~ it out. To do what with? You think, another time, you would have barked out a laugh. You can't find the energy for it now.

You're not sure how long you are there like that. It could be days, it could have been five minutes. You think, harshly, to yourself. It would be just like you for this to only last five minutes.

The anger of it comes all at once. It seethes out of you in a way that reminds you of yourself. It leaves an awful taste in your mouth but at least now you can taste something. Anything. The birds chirping outside do not register to your ears, as you find yourself screaming. Huddling. Breaking things, your own things.

You fight back the urge to console yourself with the thought of, "I could make something new." How far has making something new gotten you? What has it really done?

It is really so easy to slip into past behavior.

Rip the past out by the roots.

~~But what if you loved those roots? What if they reminded you of his hair?~~

RIP- you transform, into anything-

THE PAST- you forget the consequences-

OUT- you embrace the consequences-

BY THE ROOTS!

And, for a long while after that, you don't remember anything.

It would be just like you if this only lasted five minutes.

It's amazing, being alone. It's comforting. You feel, for the first time in a long time, the granite of your shoulder. Hard, solid, cool. It is a part of the old world that is brought back with you. It's a terrible responsibility, all at once, to realize you are actually... Quite a lot of this new world.

It feels much heavier to remember, embarrassingly, you are not the only one in it.

You think of your friends. The ones you are worried might not call you friend back. You know two would, for sure. And you write them.

You cannot send the first letters. Or the second. You remember what you thought of her, and think that _you_ should have known how wrong you'd all been before you started judging others for it.

The third one, for Hella, is okay. You can send that one. The bird that helps you do it is pleasant enough company, though it does not understand your tides. Not that many ever did.

It takes seven before you write something you think Ephrim will understand.

When he replies, you realize you'd wasted time drafting more than one. Of _course_ the "Lord" would understand your irrationality. 

"My little buddy!" A distant voice rings, and you smile.

You smile for the first time in a long time.

You rush out of the tree, strange vines and effluvia coming from the new plants surrounding your old home. You become something quick and you revel in the speed after spending so much time being so slow. So murky. So drowned.

It is a freedom you haven't felt in so long.

When you return to the tree, you see with new eyes the splinters of your past. You clear all of it out, save for those soft pleasantries which could not be shattered.

Rip the past out by the roots. You blink, you laugh, and think of another letter to write.

You think someday you will be ready again to plant something new.


End file.
